A/N: Hello again

Yes, it is perfectly justified to kill me for not finishing the other fics and then suddenly coming up with this one out of the blue. Well, what can I say, I had a lot on my plate.

This one? It's a Sherlock BBC fanfic with a rather weird twist. It's based in the same world but the story plays out in a completely different way.

Read and review, based on that I'll decide to continue or not. A lot of things are still not certain so I might decide to change them later on. Anyway, no point on stretching this a/n any longer.

I hope you enjoy this one.

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock then I wouldn't be half dead waiting for season 3.

'No, please…!'

'Please! Don't…!'

'Stop it… Please…!'

John Watson woke up with a start, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his breath coming in short gasps. Turning his head to the side he glared hard at seemingly nothing but a point hovering in midair.

'How many times do I have to tell you all that I cannot help you? How hard is it to get that in your heads?' He heaved a sigh, realizing that it would be pointless to attempt sleeping now, and so swinging his legs off the side of the bed he reached for the walking stick that was leaning against the bed stand. Running his fingers over it, he leaned back and let out another sigh, closing his eyes as the air left his lungs.

It had been a few months since John had returned from military service, and he had returned with quite a souvenir. Running a hand over the scar on his shoulder, he gripped the walking stick and stood up, eased his slippers on and hobbled his way to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, all the while muttering and grumbling about how rude 'they' were and how 'they' lacked any manners whatsoever.

'You know, there are people who actually get paid to do such things.' he said out loud again, 'Why bother me?'

All of a sudden a seemingly empty spot got occupied by a translucent being, garbed in white from head to toe. John did a sharp intake of air as he noticed the being, as if shocked, but then immediately replaced that with an expression of irritation.

'No, whatever you want, I can't do it. I don't care if it's important to you or that it is the reason you can't cross over, but no! I can't and most certainly will not help you. So, please, do me a terribly great favor and LEAVE.' By the end of that John was positively panting, deep lines forming on his forehead due to the thunderous scowl that now dominated that rather pleasant face of his.

He turned around with a flourish of his dressing gown, placed his mug on the desk and marched off to his bed where he promptly fell face-first and shut his eyes, trying to drown out the distractions around him.

'Sod it!' It was nearly dawn and the white being was still there, having chosen to ignore the rant that John has all but shouted at him. He turned his head to study the spirit that belonged to some unfortunate soul that had met his end but was still stuck in the world of the living for one or another reason. But now that John studied him, he noticed that this time it was different from the rest that generally invited themselves into his apartment. For starters, his face didn't look like it had been used as a punching bag. No, this one had particularly sharp features; sharp cheekbones, pointed nose, clear grey-blue eyes and, though it ticked John off terribly to admit it, he was tall.

'Fine.' John took a deep breath and, and facing the other being or whatever it was directly continued, 'Fine. Let's hear it then. What do you want?'

'Afghanistan or Iraq?' was all he said in an amazingly deep baritone.

'What?' John blinked a few times before reiterating that, 'What?'

'Afghanistan,' the being paused, and then continued, 'Or Iraq?' he finished, much slower than before.

'Af-Afghanistan, but how did you… Wait, is this one of those ESPs you all get? Is that it?'

'No.' came the simple reply.

'Then who told you that?' John asked, his voice going up a notch.

'Your tan told me that.' came the abrupt and instant reply.

'My tan?' John voiced his query while his eyebrows twisted in a quizzical way, 'How…'

'Your haircut and the way you hold yourself suggest military. We can tell from the mug sitting on your desk that you are a medical man, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists – you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you do not look for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic – wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.' the tall being finished with sharp and emphasized 'kkh' at the end.

John merely blinked and let his mouth hand open for a few seconds before clamping it back up.

When he could speak again he said, 'You're trying to impress me by using your ESP… Very clever… But let me tell you that this is not going to get me to help you. Ha ha ha no.'

'While you're correct about this being an ESP,' again with the exaggerated p, 'it is only so because I'm a genius. So do not, by any means, go about thinking that just about any other ordinary person is like this.'

'And so? That still doesn't make me change my mind. Anyway, if that's that then I'll be going back to sleep now. Good night.'

*bang*

'No… Please…'

*bang* *bang*

'Please! Don't shoot!'

*bang*

'No!' John woke up screaming again, but this time to the smell of gunpowder and a sizzling noise coming from his right. He turned around just in time to see his gun, hovering in midair, shoot yet another bullet into the wall to complete what seemed to be a smiley face made with bullet holes.

'What the hell are you doing?!' John shouted, grimacing as he heard the hurried knocks on his door. People worried about his well-being, obviously.

'Bored.' Said the brunette in a flat tone.

'WHAT?!' John all but screamed in frustration as he made his way to the door, pleading his brain to come up with a seemingly logical explanation for this without sounding like a total nut bag.

An hour's worth of apologies later, John was back on his bed with the gun safely in the drawer along with his laptop. A furious scowl adorned his face as he let out another shaky breath.

'I'm bored.' said the brunette once more, as if the smiley made with bullet holes wasn't enough.

'Bored? You're bored?! Why should I give a damn about that? Why the hell am I supposed to help you out? We don't even know each other!'

'I know you're an army doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. You've got a brother worried about you, but you won't go to him for help, because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife, and I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think? Oh, and the name's Sherlock Holmes. Nice to meet you.' he finished in all but one breath, his grey-blue eyes twinkling expectantly.

Once again John was rendered speechless. How on earth did this person know all that? Especially about his sibling, since there was nothing around him suggesting that he had one, and definitely nothing that hinted at alcoholism. He shook his head in defeat, a small smile gracing his features as they visibly softened down.

Ever since he had gotten this gift all he had encountered so far were unfortunate souls asking him to help them cross over. Never had he met one such as this brunette who now stood before him in all his splendid height. As he replayed the conversation in his mind, something made John change his mind, something that made John want to go down this new path that life was leading him to. With a final sigh and a nod of his head he looked straight into the eyes of the brunette in front.

'Alright then, what do you want?'

A/N: And, that's that. Please review.